by unfrequented stream,

the ways of men are distant brought,

a faint, collected dream;

while praising, and raising

his thoughts to heav'n on high,

as wand'ring, meand'ring,

he views the solemn sky.

than i, no lonely hermit plac'd

where never human footstep trac'd,

less fit to play the part,

the lucky moment to improve,

and just to stop, and just to move,

with self-respecting art:

but ah! those pleasures, loves, and joys,

which i too keenly taste,

the solitary can despise,

can want, and yet be blest!

he needs not, he heeds not,

or human love or hate;

whilst i here must cry here

at perfidy ingrate!

o, enviable, early days,

when dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze,

to care, to guilt unknown!

how ill exchang'd for riper times,

to feel the follies, or the crimes,

of others, or my own!

ye tiny elves that guiltless sport,

like linnets in the bush,

ye little know the ills ye court,

when manhood is your wish!

the losses, the crosses,

that active man engage;

the fears all, the tears all,

of dim declining age!